The interior of the Archmagos's mechanical ark had become a blood-soaked slaughterhouse. Violent battles and desperate cries echoed through its complex corridors. On the communication channels, endless alarms signaled desperate calls for reinforcements and the imminence of enemy attacks.
The fighting was savage—wreckage strewn across the floors, chilling metal shards mingled with still-twitching organic matter. The oppressive air reeked of cold steel, engine oil, blood, ozone, and a hint of rot.
Beneath this chaos, the traitor legions led by Fabius Bile had stormed through the Webway Gate—an artifact retrieved by Belisarius Cawl from some ancient ruin—launching assaults on the ark's vital zones. Massive, heavily muscled mutants, as large as Space Marines, screamed inhuman war cries. While typically dull-witted, mutants possessed extraordinary strength and were easy to command. At Bile's signal, they charged in hordes, their frenzy trailing a host of malicious constructs created by the Dark Mechanicus.
These biomechanical monstrosities—walking machines and bio-automata—surged forward, belching toxic smoke and crackling arcs of electricity. Drenched in hate, they unleashed cursed bombs and searing energy beams at the defenders. The grinding of gears, the hum of servomotors, and groans of agony filled the air. Trapped souls, bound by foul sorcery inside these abominations, screamed endlessly.
And then came the Chaos Space Marines—sons of the Emperor—resplendent yet tainted, clad in ornate, purple power armor adorned with skulls, flayed skin, and blasphemous runes. Driven by combat drugs, they craved cathartic slaughter, their laughter ringing like claws on metal. Many royal retainers were butchered, their ends most tragic at the hands of these men.
"The Gene-seed is mine. Kill all who stand in the way."
"I will forge a great new age, where a new humanity will become the darlings of the galaxy."
Again and again, Bile ordered his mutants to their deaths, all to achieve his vile ambitions.
The defenders responded with disciplined formations and precise firepower. Blue plasma flares and explosive blasts collided within the steel hallways. They slew swathes of mutants, corpses littering the corridors. But the enemy's numbers were overwhelming, their fearlessness and cruelty unmatched. Unfazed by gunfire, mutants hurled themselves at gun emplacements, tearing apart the Guard's armor and flesh with twisted claws and fangs.
Chaos Space Marines cut through weak points in the defenses, using explosives and chainswords with the precision of surgeons, dismantling all resistance. With fire support from Dark Mechanicus war machines, the defenders were forced to retreat further and further.
A thunderous roar sounded—
Bile's own beast-warrior Brutus, modeled after a Minotaur, swung a gigantic axe. Towering more than twice the height of a Space Marine and armed with monstrous strength, Brutus's electrified greataxe could sever tank shells and cleave metal and flesh alike. As he charged, the metal floor shuddered. Entire ranks of mechanized monks were sent flying. Those who survived were butchered with the axe, bodies and machine parts thrown high with a squealing sound.
Elsewhere, the modified mutant Potter flickered in and out of sight like a nightmare, assassinating commanders and throwing the garrison's chain of command into chaos.
…
The nodes of the Webway collapsed, lifeless guardians sprawled across the great hall.
"The machine spirit's defense protocols have been breached. I have successfully acquired the Archmagos's database," the speaker announced.
It was Columbari Enas, the Daemon Sage, who retracted his mechanical tendrils from the master array's interface. An apostate of the Dark Mechanicus, Columbari had forsaken the Emperor's glory to serve the gods of Chaos, ever hungry for distorted truths.
"I've given you the maps and the locations of Ark's precious resources. Plunder as you please. Automated turrets and laser arrays have also been disabled by code—they're no threat to us now."
As soon as he spoke, all the auto-guns that had rained deadly fire from the corridor's sides and ceilings powered down in perfect unison. Muzzles dimmed, energy indicators flickered gray. With the auto-guns rendered useless, the already outmatched defenders found their plight dire.
The traitor army overwhelmed them in close combat; entire stretches of rotting territory fell, the hallways now gruesome abattoirs.
After defeating the Primaris Space Marines, Bile accessed the data packet sent by the Daemon Sage: blueprints of the entire mechanical ark, with key locations marked—sites where Cawl had stored genetic treasures over millennia: the Primaris Space Marine templates, experimental gene-seed samples, biomechanical fusion prototypes, and, chief among them, humanity's greatest genetic patrimony: the Primal Gene-seed.
The value of this Primal Gene-seed surpassed ten thousand worlds' harvests.
"Stop those accursed invaders at all costs. We cannot allow the Grand Sage's technological achievements to be stolen!"
Thus, the chieftain of the Forged led the Archmagos's garrison to launch a counterattack. This Proto Chief, the first successfully created Proto-Primaris Space Marine, was considered Cawl's greatest creation—his "son" and most capable pupil. The chief possessed peerless psychic power, superhuman physique, and intellect. Although not quite of Primarch tier, he far surpassed other mass-produced Space Marines.
He sought to stop Bile and the traitor invaders, to prevent Cawl's treasures from being lost.
His tactics were flawless, his battle prowess refined by years of experience, easily slaughtering Chaos Space Marines. But he faced Fabius Bile—a warlord utterly depraved, devoid of morality, known for sowing suffering across countless worlds.
Bile lured the chief into a trap, feigning exposure and executing a surgical decapitation strike. Brutus, Potter, and the other enhanced mutants worked together to fell the chief.
"You are mine now."
Bile gazed in glee upon the fallen chief. Cawl's creations contained the ingredients for Bile's perfect human. A new age would be shaped by their own hands; leftovers of the old era cast aside.
…
Inside the temple command room, dissonant alarm sirens blared as floating projection interfaces tracked the enemy's ever-shifting movements. Multiple key regions had fallen; even the Chief had been captured. The situation was dire.
Desperate, Grand Sage Belisarius Cawl's logic engine computed solutions faster and faster, but with each second, the odds of success dwindled—enemy attacks and sabotage were relentless.
Just as Cawl considered fleeing with the Primal Gene-seed, without warning, a spinning green portal of light appeared beside the main data console. In an instant, a figure emerged—a perfect sliding tackle, smooth as if practiced a thousand times—accompanied by a "shoooo" as he exited the portal.
His helmet was unmistakable: a comically theatrical clown's mask. His power armor was painted in five dazzling hues. This was Datch, summoned from the world of Anglev, for he knew there was a quest to fulfill.
Cawl's Guards, on alert, instantly brought their plasma guns, heavy bolters, and arc weapons to bear, deadly targeting lasers converging on Datch.
"Halt!" Cawl's booming command echoed via datalink, instantly pacifying the guardians' control cores. Plasma weapons cut power, beams dimmed and sputtered out, and bolters with live triggers were lifted away by robotic arms.
"Honored Nameless One, why have you come so suddenly?" Cawl shifted his massive frame toward Datch, his primary optics focusing in.
Datch stood, surveyed the room, and finally perched atop the Grand Sage's head, a golden question mark floating silently above.
"Grand Sage Cawl, is there anything I can do to help?"
Cawl hesitated—but only for a moment. Whoever the Nameless One was or why he appeared was secondary: he was an ally, and a formidable one at that. If Datch could handle Magnus, then surely Fabius Bile stood little chance.
Without hesitation, Cawl explained his plight:
"A vile traitor named Fabius Bile, colluding with the Dark Mechanicus, attempts to seize my mechanical ark, the Primal Gene-seed, and my life's research by force."
He activated the holo-projector; scrolls of data streamed, showing invasion routes and casualty reports.
"They're moving rapidly. If we cannot halt them, the entire ark may fall."
"Nameless Lord, please help us repel these thieves and destroyers!"
As he spoke, a quest interface popped up before Datch's eyes:
[Mission: Aid Grand Sage Belisarius Cawl in repelling (or eliminating) Fabius Bile's invading forces so the Original Gene-seed and vital research are not lost.]
[Obsessive Fabius Bile seeks to steal the genetic secrets Cawl has hoarded for millennia in order to fashion a new "perfect" humanity. Dark Mechanicus traitors have offered both tech and sabotage. The fortress of knowledge is under siege. It's time these greedy villains tasted defeat!]
[Rewards: 1500 EXP, 1500 points, 200 reputation, 1 explosive-bolt sniper rifle.]
Datch muttered: "Just a sniper rifle? Not even a teleport fluid?"
With a single glance at the rewards, Datch nodded to Cawl.
"Leave the traitors to me."
After confirming the mission, Datch summoned the Dark Angel squad. Then he produced two more Pokéballs, tossed them skyward, and summoned the Xenos and the Masque of Slaanesh—but not Skarbrand: that one was too destructive and might accidentally wreck the mechanical ark.
Ripples shimmered in the air around Datch. First appeared the Changeling, hunched and grinning, awaiting orders. Sweet laughter echoed as the creature anticipated Datch's commands. After so many trials, the Changeling had come to accept his fate. The Nameless One was too formidable—even the master of all change could not help him now.
Send Tzeentch this message: never contact him again; lest bystanders misunderstand.
Moments later, misty purplish-pink light coalesced as the Masque of Slaanesh materialized from the smoke, her masked face contorted in humiliation and rage. Being forcibly summoned, her ritual broken, and the news of the Dark Prince's utter abandonment nearly broke her. With a soul-piercing scream, the Dancer attacked Datch, dead set on tearing him to pieces—while the Changeling watched, gleeful and expectant.
But in the next instant, the Masque of Slaanesh froze—trapped in place by an invisible, irresistible force. Then, the most dreadful curse for any Daemon of Slaanesh befell her: complete sensory deprivation.
Sight, sound, touch, pain, pleasure—her every tie to the outside world, and to herself, was ruthlessly severed. She was plunged into absolute, eternal, maddening, mind-shattering void. Identity began to dissolve. Existence became endless agony.
She lost all sense of time; as she neared a psychic shattering, the Masque of Slaanesh unconsciously abandoned her hate for Datch.
Then—she came back to herself. Once again aware of her own being, she stared at Datch like a drowning woman saved from the abyss—stricken with horror and awe. The Changeling cackled, clearly enjoying the show, and still preferred the Dancer's original unruly attitude.
Datch watched the now-stilled Masque of Slaanesh. She was still a walking fusion of ultimate beauty and ineffable horror.
"Tch. For a succubus, you're really ugly."
That cut deep. Telling a succubus she's ugly is like claiming Khorne worship is sexy.
"Let's make you a little more palatable."
Datch snapped his fingers.
A shiver ran through the Dancer as light enveloped her, her image shifting rapidly. Now, her form was that of a human woman—albeit with an otherworldly perfection and allure, just a hair off from natural. Her short, pure white hair shone like distilled moonlight, seeming to move gently in still air. Her skin was flawless and creamy; a pair of delicate, curved horns peeked from her hair. She wore a purple silk dress and black stockings that accentuated her figure. A slim tail with a heart-shaped tip swayed behind her.
Altogether, she now embodied humanity's classic succubus fantasy: seductive, dangerous, compelling even to those who knew it was a trap.
"Perfect. Save this image."
Datch smiled. Useless as she was, at least she was beautiful now.
The Dancer, though humiliated, felt a secret thrill at her enslavement. The Changeling smiled with both resentment and hope. Interesting, she thought. Truly fascinating.
"Now, go. Exterminate the invaders. Be efficient."
Datch ordered his daemons to begin the slaughter. Grand Sage Cawl, still by the data-table, blinked slightly wider optics. He'd known the Nameless One could command daemons, but to bend the heralds of all four gods and alter their forms at will? Perhaps this man was an upstart, aiming to supplant the Ruinous Powers as the one true god of the cosmos.
Datch ignored Cawl's wild surmises, darting and sliding down the corridors, Dark Angel squad in tow, heading straight for the enemy guided by the minimap.
The Changeling and Masque of Slaanesh wreaked utter havoc. Their power overwhelmed mutants and Chaos Marines alike. The Changeling sowed confusion, making enemies fight each other or trapping them in inescapable phantasms. The Masque of Slaanesh, dancing with deadly grace, vented her fury on traitors and mutants alike. Wherever she passed, enemies twisted, tore, and blossomed into bloody, rhythmic explosions.
Datch's team slaughtered their way through the mutinous invaders inside the mechanical ark. After purging the hidden Deep Layer Temple of the Thinker, Datch found a heavy, multilayer-secured Thinker terminal, marked with a floating golden exclamation mark.
He slid up to the device and opened the information panel:
[Inferior Guilliman]: A low-quality replica made from Guilliman's gene-sample. Lacks Primarch-level strength, but possesses intelligence beyond normal humans.
Datch threw a glance at the panel, pupils dilating slightly. Was Cawl really not a traitor? He really had tried to copy Roboute Guilliman. If this got out, the Inquisition would pay a personal visit that very night—and roast him alive for seventy-nine days.
If Roboute Guilliman himself were to find out, he'd probably go berserk over this heresy.
The Changeling appeared at Datch's side, scanning the Thinker terminal and snickering at the faint aura of Guilliman's information—truly, events were growing ever more entertaining.
Datch left the Thinker untouched—this was an NPC plot point; his job was to observe.
With the help of the daemons and Dark Angel squad, Datch and his team slaughtered the mutants and traitors. The defenders, with revitalized morale, advanced, retaking ground lost to the invaders.
As Datch and his allies marched triumphantly forward, Fabius Bile himself appeared before him. Surprised to see the two daemons so obedient, Bile quickly masked his shock and shouted at Datch:
"Nameless One—I know your name. Perhaps we can talk. Humanity is finished as a species. We must craft something better."
"We of the same ilk—those willing to do whatever it takes to succeed. You use daemons as slaves. Does that not prove it?"